The Scenic Route
by lil miss meiling
Summary: All James Wilson could think about was the fact that he was late for dinner. The bursting pain in some places and lack of pain in others came in second. Warning: HW slash.
1. Chapter 1

Authors Note: This is my first House fic. I was really nervous about characterization and the like, so forgive me if everyone seems OOC, I hope it's not too bad J And let it be known to all that the characters of House M.D. are not mine, alas, but belong to David Shore.

Part One

The first thing that James Wilson realized was that he was late. A few days before he had left the comfort of his and Greg's home to attend a conference in Pennsylvania. Just a few days of boring lectures and longing for the comfort of home. He'd called often enough, to the point where House had to assure him that 72 hours was not _that _long. He'd chuckled nervously, agreeing that perhaps he was being a bit too homesick, though he had managed to talk him into having dinner out the night he returned. Reservations had been made at a nice Italian restaurant, where he had agreed to meet at 7:30pm. It was what got him through the final lectures and made him smile during the long trip home. The last thing he remembered was glancing down at the clock, relieved that within an hour he would be reunited with his lover.

The bursting pain in his head and the fact that he couldn't feel his legs came only after that. It was as if something was sawing through his head as his eyes remained tightly closed, a small attempt to gain some control of the pain. A moment later he realized that he needed to open his eyes, to see what had happened. Yet as he tried to pry them open he found himself having some difficulty, making his brows furrow in confusion. Finally, his brown eyes were squinting, shapes slowly becoming visible again. The faint moonlight that filtered into the vehicle was enough to make him wish he were still sleeping. His eyes burned from the dim lights, but he would not let this deter him.

Bringing a hand to his face, he realized he was trembling, and still could not figure out why. As he rubbed his eyes, hoping to strengthen his vision he paused, wondering why his face was suddenly damp. His wrist turned slowly as he moved his hand just inches away and soon all he saw was red. Red trickled down his palm. Red dripped from his fingertips. It was red that now coated his face, plastering strands of his brown locks to his forehead. And it was that single color that sent his mind reeling as everything that had happened flashed back.

He remembered the animal that had wandered into the road while he had been getting off of the phone to make sure Greg was getting ready. He recalled the jerk of the wheel as he tried his hardest not to end the creatures life. He recollected the clang of his car smashing through the guardrail and the sudden darkness that easily had taken him over.

"Oh god…," he thought, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them again and releasing a shaky breath. This time his gaze was locked on the broken windshield and what lie just outside it. Nighttime only added to his inability to see things clearly, but the sight that was before him was as clear as crystal. The gravel and rocks that were in front of him made his whole body tremble. The large gap between where he was and the ground brought unshed tears to his eyes. When he finally released a sob it was because when he cautiously looked through his back window, instead of the safety of the road he was met with a starry sky.

The view left his mind with nothing. No coherent thoughts flowed through his mind, nothing but stone cold fear existed as far as he was concerned. It was obvious that no one else had driven on the unpopular road, and if he ever got through this he wouldn't ever again. Help…he needed help. But the road had stretched for miles and he knew his car wouldn't be visible since he had gone over the cliff. He tried to think, to focus his mind on the single idea of getting someone to save him when suddenly he heard the best thing he could hope for.

The familiar sound of is ring tone flowed through the broken car. From what he could hear it sounded like it was coming from the floor on the passengers side. Moving fast he shifted his body, gripping the steering wheel with one hand to steady himself as he leaned over, wincing at every movement he made. His eyes lit up when he small screen came into view, the name "House" flashing brightly. He stretched his arm out as far as he could, vaguely noticing the large gash that made its way up his forearm. Finally, he felt the plastic against his finger tips, and urged himself to stop shaking long enough to grasp the phone and quickly bring it up to his ear, pressing the power button.

Before he could utter a word House's voice came through loud and clear, and even though he sounded annoyed it was the best thing Wilson had ever heard. "Where the hell are you? I've been sitting around this place for almost an hour with no entertainment. Did you know this place doesn't even have a bar? What restaurant doesn't come with a bar?"

"S-sorry…," he replied, his eyes widening slightly at the sound of his own voice. His throat was dry and his voice came out hoarse and no louder than a whisper. He sighed softly, his head suddenly feeling heavy, causing him to lean back, allowing it to fall back against the headrest.

"Wilson? Wilson what's going on?," he heard, and couldn't help but smile faintly at the concern. "…Hey, you still there? WILSON!"

The yell made him wince, but nonetheless brought his attention back to the conversation. Help. He needed to get help. "I think…no…I was in an accident…I t-think I need help…"

He heard the curse that came from the other line. "Where are you?" The voice sounded professional enough, but he could hear the worry seeping through. Where was he…

"Over a cliff…," were the first words that he could think of, and therefore were what came out of his mouth, though he immediately regretted it. Though he couldn't see, he knew Greg must have stopped wherever he was, the quiet thumping of a cane no longer present, replaced by the sounded of wood clattering to the ground. "I just…wanted to take a scenic route back…Thought of you…"

"Okay…I'm going to call for help okay? Just stay on the line," the voice shook slightly.

"Okay," he whispered softly as his mind began to drift. He could hear voices arguing over the receiver and allowed a small smile to grace his lips. Even in an emergency House was still House. It was oddly comforting. In his mind he pictured House arguing with the restaurant host about guest policies and using the phone. Then words like "accident" "cliff" and "Skyline Drive." The last one rang a bell, but he couldn't remember why. Then things started to sound less technical and words like "please" and "ride" came through.

He let the distant sound of House's voice relax him, familiarity calming him enough to keep from breaking down again. His eyes slowly started to close, but as luck would have it, a loud creaking brought him right back to a state of awareness. The shifting metal scraping against rock struck a nerve, and suddenly he was unable to breathe. He could feel the car slowly sliding down and couldn't keep the scream from ripping through him. It lasted only a few seconds and soon the car was still once more, and he was no longer alone.

"Wilson?? James, what's happening??" House yelled through the phone, and suddenly Wilson remembered that he had been waiting for someone.

"Not stable…," he mumbled, preoccupied with explicit visions of his death floating through his head. "Car…s'not stable."

"Just stay with me alright?" It came almost as a plea. "Emergency services are making their way to you as we speak, and so am I."

This admission filled him with concern. "B-better not be on t-that damned bike."

A forced laugh. "You're hanging off a ledge and all you can do is lecture me about the motorcycle?"

"Don't n-need both of us…h-hurt," he replied, slightly offended, though seconds later he couldn't remember why. And suddenly he felt the darkness pulling at him again, trying to seduce him into unconsciousness. It was a comforting thought, knowing that if he just allowed himself to let his eyes close the pain would be gone. Yet he was torn, torn between a painless existence and the comforting sound of his lover's voice. What he couldn't figure out was why he felt so tired, and then he remembered Red.

"There's so much blood…," he said softly, his eyes glancing down at his hands. "Everywhere…"

"James, I need you to listen to me alright?" Yes. He would listen. "Can you tell me where you're hurt?"

This suddenly reminded him that he was still a doctor. The cloudiness that filled his mind could not hide the cold, hard facts that he knew from his profession. Yes, this was something he could do. "P-pretty sure my arm's b-broken. My head…I hit my head, d-definitely have a concussion." As he listed off the numerous injuries he knew of it occurred to him that he didn't feel pain in his legs. The rest of his body felt like a giant bruise, but nothing below his waist.

With his newly acquired knowledge fresh in his mind he found his voice was completely lost. Minutes passed and still he said nothing, only vaguely aware of a worried voice pleading for him to say something. Paralyzed…the most obvious answer was that he was paralyzed. The very thought brought him to tears. He thought of walking down the halls of the hospital with Greg at his side. He thought about smiling as he drove around the city, arguing with Greg about his death trap of a motorcycle. And he remembered the quiet moans that Greg would make as they made love in their bed.

"Greg…," he said finally, unable to remember the last time either of them had spoke. "I think I'm paralyzed…."


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I still sadly do not own House or any other characters in House MD.

Authors Note: Part two is up, yaaay! I meant to have it up sooner, but was sadly struck down by an evil cold, but I showed it who was boss lol. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this next chapter :-)

The words spoken aloud sounded even worse than he could have thought. It had been one thing to simply think them, keeping the idea locked in his own mind, but saying them to Greg made them real; made the possibility real. This couldn't be happening, no, it wasn't possible. He was James Wilson, boy wonder oncologist, Mr. Well Adjusted. He was the one who's life had been nothing but normal. This wasn't supposed to happen, _shouldn't _have happened!

He hadn't even noticed when he had started to hyperventilate. His breath was coming in sharp, almost painful gasps. Still, amongst all of his panic he still had House's voice tying him to reality. "James…," it called to him, the tone uncommonly soft. "It's alright, just calm down for me alright? You need to breathe slow or you're going to pass out, do you hear me? It's going to be alright."

"Okay…," he answered softly before letting his hand fall to his lap, tired from holding the phone up for so long. As he started to calm down, concentrating on keeping his breaths slow and even, he took a second to put the phone on speaker as realized that he probably wouldn't be able to lift it back up.

Minutes passed like agonizing hours, silent aside from House's voice cutting through the static of his connection. He knew that he should be trying to keep up a conversation, stimulate his mind to try and keep his body from giving into the approaching darkness, but his throat was dry and it hurt to breathe. Instead, he allowed Greg's words to wash over him, from telling him that they were almost there to the bickering he was doing with someone else, a distant voice he could not be bothered to recognize. He smiled faintly though, having the feeling that it was something he was used to witnessing, hoping that he'd live to see it again, to see _House_ again.

James hadn't meant for his eyes to close, nor did he know how long he had been asleep again, but awareness came in the form of flickering lights. When he finally pried them open completely he couldn't help but laugh. Red and blue flashed from behind him, the cavalry had arrived, though how long they had been working he couldn't tell. His mind was fuzzy and he knew he wouldn't be able to yell. He could barely move his head anymore, the stiffness in his neck having taken over and the slightest movement sent jolts of pain through his broken body.

The second thing he noticed was the disrupted silence. The creaking of machines came from behind him and voices melded together, leaving his jumbled mind unable to pick out words. However, his eyes narrowed slightly as something picked at the back of his mind, something he was missing. And then came in the form of a distant sob. It was quiet, reserved, but unmistakably present. The obvious answer was that the sounds were his own, and given the situation that seemed to fit quiet well. Yet, there was something else, something missing, and then it hit him.

The cell phone which was still clutched tightly in his hand was still on, the line still in tact. Guilt washed over him like a tidal wave crashing into a cove as he realized Greg must still be on the other end, completely clueless as to what was happening to him. He knew he had to say something, _anything_ to let the other know he was still there, still fighting for him. Moistening his chapped lips, he tried to speak, just a simple hello, but his voice would not work. Frowning, he narrowed his eyes, annoyed with himself for such a weak attempt and took a deep breath before slowly lifting the phone to his lips, wanting to make sure even the quietest words would be heard.

"Hey…d-don't let them s-see you…w-wouldn't want someone k-knowing you have a h-heart…" he said softly, his voice nothing but a hoarse whisper. He couldn't help but smile at the sudden pause coming from the other side, followed by a sob of relief.

"Don't worry…_I'm_ not going spread the word," came a quick reply, though the emotion behind the words was blaringly obvious. "Might have to bribe the little duckling I convinced to get me here though. Can't let them have the upper hand." A pause. "Jimmy…think you can stay awake for me now? I'll be right back."

He could still hear House in the background, his tone laced with annoyance as he argued with an unknown assailant. Everything around him started to blur again and he knew that his eyelids were starting to droop, and yet never fully closed. The voice that had once before eased him into unconsciousness now acted as a rope, tethering him to reality. "Be nice…," he said, deciding that talking, even if no one was there, would help to keep him from falling asleep. "I n-need these guys to like m-me…s-stuck in a car r-remember?"

It was a small but pleasant surprise when his words didn't go unheard. "You know me…I'm _always_ nice…," House answered, his voice quiet. "They're almost done setting up your big rescue…You'll be out soon." Somehow though, the words seemed to come out unresolved, as if House had been trying to convince not only Wilson but himself as well.

But he didn't have it in him to disagree. "Yeah…I just w-want to be home…you know? I b-bet you look g-great all dressed up f-for dinner." He could almost picture his lover, not in a full suit, but still in a nice pair of tan pants and a suit jacket, maybe even the cerulean shirt that he secretly loved. Hopes weren't too high for a tie, but there was also the possibility of the one he had gotten him to impress the judge at his trial.

"Yeah…I even wore that stupid tie," House replied, followed by a sad chuckle. "Not sure how it looks now though…I may have had a brief, destructive outburst…"

As he tapered off, Wilson picked up on a second voice, the same familiar one he was unable to identify earlier. It was still very fuzzy, though he was at least able to tell it wasn't female, which really only left two people who would have possibly driven House all the way here. Each option was equally surprising, though if he really thought about it he knew deep down that House had formed at least some sort of bond with his fellows. "Chase…?" he questioned, unaware that it had been asked aloud until he received an unexpected reply.

"Sharp senses still there I see." He could almost hear the smirk behind the words. "But yes, that was Chase. He just informed me that they're about to send people down."

Part of him was simply overjoyed at the news that he would finally be able to escape the place that had become his prison. But somehow that wasn't enough, and almost on cue the car began to creak and his eyes slammed shut. "Greg…," he pleaded as he twisted his body, ignoring the pain shooting through every inch of him. He could hear the voices coming from above him but nothing was really getting through to him. Panic coursed through his very soul he latched his free arm around the headrest, pulling himself as far back as he could. Away from the open windshield which let through a light breeze. Away from freefall that awaited him if the car continued to tilt forward. "I…I'm not gonna make it out of here…a-am I?"

"Yes you _are_," the gruff voice on the other line snapped. "Just…just be really careful alright? No sudden movements…" As he continued on the gruff exterior began to melt away. "They're on their way right now…they'll secure the car so it won't move anymore and then they'll get you out, safe and sound."

"Hope so…," he replied softly, glancing out of the cracked window. "God Greg…what if…w-what if I really am p-paralyzed? I…What w-will I-"

"Don't worry about that right now, okay?" House interrupted, his voice steady and firm. "We don't even know if that's true…and if, and _only _if, that's the case…We'll deal with it as it comes right? Let's just get you up and out of there first…One step at a time. Just think of all the sympathy you'll get, heh. The whole hospital staff will bring you stuff."

"O-only if you d-don't scare them off..." He tapered off as the last of his strength started to fade. The adrenaline that pumped through his veins was finally warring off, leaving him barely able to keep his eyes open. "So tired…" He didn't want to leave Greg alone on the phone again, but he seemed to be fighting a losing battle against the rest of his body.

"I know you are James…but you've got stay awake for me," Greg insisted. "Just a little while longer okay? Tell you what…you do this for me and I'll even try my hand at being the sympathetic one, the whole time you're in the hospital…or most of it at least."

He couldn't help but laugh at that, though it quickly turned into a fit of coughing, followed by a few deep breathes. "Tempting offer…Hey….I t-think my r-rescue is here…"

Though his eyes had started to close and he was barely squinting, Wilson could just barely make out the shapes of people secured to lines that kept them from falling. For the most part he felt relief flooding through him, though at this point feelings in general were a bit unclear. Voices started calling his name, both from the phone and just outside, but he could respond to neither. When the car shuttered his mind completely shut down, too terrified to continue thinking of anything else.

All that was left were feelings. He could tell when his body was being moved from the car and taken to safety. He could tell when he was placed on the gurney, dimly conscious of the lights that were constantly flashing around the area. Voices were all melded together, but he could still clearly make out one, the one belonging to House. That single voice put him at ease, sending most of his worried to the back of his mind. And that single voice was the last thing he heard before slipping into unconsciousness, along with the feeling of a warm hand on his own.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Same as usually ya'll. All the characters used are based off of House MD, which is all David Shore's...much to my envy.

Part Three

There was bright light streaming through a lone window, easily passing through his eyelids. It was annoying to be sure, but something told him it would be a good idea to open his eyes. The struggle began, his mind telling him one thing while his body told him another, a battle for consciousness that he was already losing. That was not enough to deter him, however, and his eyelids started to flutter, until finally he was squinting at the blinding light in the room.

As soon as this happened he heard a voice calling to him, urging him to continue is waking process. The words were jumbled and he couldn't quite make them out, but he still found comfort in them, though he couldn't figure out why. He felt someone squeeze his hand, bringing him further into reality as he tried his best to squeeze back. The moment he tried to squeeze back, however, he was hit with a crash of pain shooting through his limbs. A quiet whimper escaped his lips, and suddenly he was surrounded by voices and the scuffling of people around him.

As he tightly closed his eyes and clenched his fists he found a small comfort in a hand that brushed against his forehead and soft words whispered in his ear. Slowly he started to calm down, responding only to the mystery figure that was bringing him comfort as the pain started to ebb away. It was only then that the voice started to become clearer and his lips curved into a very faint smile.

"That's it…just relax," the familiar voice said. "You're going to be alright, I promise, but you need to stay calm. Opening those sexy eyes of yours wouldn't hurt either…"

That made him laugh a bit on the inside, and gave him more of an incentive to give some kind of response. As the room quieted down even more and he assumed that no one was left except him and the man he loved, he took a few moments to gather his strength. Using everything he had he relaxed his fingers and slowly laced his fingers with those belonging to the other.

He could immediately feel the warmth radiating from the rough finger tips that connected with his palm. Awareness slowly began to come forward and he used this to try and assume his condition. The pain was faint, most likely due to the meds that were coursing through his veins. He could feel himself breathing in and out, so they hadn't had to intubate, which he supposed was a good sign. The train of thought was lost, however, as the voice spoke up once more.

"I know you're awake," it said with a stubborn tone. "If you can take my hand, which is very girly of you by the way, then I know you can open your eyes…I'll even say please if it'll make you feel better, and you _know_ I never say please for anything. You've been asleep long enough anyway, and Steve's getting awfully lonely since I so graciously opted to stay here to keep you company…"

Even though his mind was about as useful as a spork, James knew there was some underlying meaning to what he was hearing. There was the faintest hint of relief and worry, though stealthily covered with an air of normalcy surrounding it. He wanted to appease him, simply open his eyes and hope everything would be normal again, but he was tired and weak, and a small part of him couldn't help but be curious as to what else he would hear. So he waited.

"Stubborn bastard." He hadn't expected that. "Why won't you wake up for me huh? It's been days since the accident…Cameron's been driving me up a wall, always asking if there's anything she can do. Though I suppose her mother henning isn't much of an incentive to wake up." The speech was broken by a soft sigh. "You're going to make me bring out the big guns aren't you? Alright fine. _I_ miss you alright? They were worried for a while…the injuries were pretty substantial. After going over the files I'm not even sure how I managed to keep you on the phone as long as I did…but you pulled through…All you need to do now is open those eyes and I'll stop bugging you."

"Everyone always says that talking helps right? I always thought it was a bunch of crap, how could I not after all the time we spent with coma guy. We ate lunch in that room way too many times…Of course, he still woke up eventually, just like you better. I wouldn't sit here and talk to myself for just anyone you know. Besides…who else is going to keep me in line at work, or make sure I eat something other than take out at least once a week? Not to mention how hard it is to find someone to watch The OC with just for the mockery value…"

Something about this seemed a bit unfair. Despite his efforts, his eyes would not react to his desires. He could hear the pleading in between all of the lines and desperately wanted to be able to reassure him. For a brief moment he thought that perhaps he should have saved what little strength he had to open his eyes rather than use it for the physical contact he so desperately yearned for. It was torture, having all of these thoughts in his head but no way to voice them, no way to be heard.

Minutes passed in silence as his thoughts began to wander once more, silence filling the area. He couldn't blame anyone, knowing that talking to anyone with no response can take a toll. Though he had to admit that when the silence was broken again, he was glad for someone to listen to.

"You know…I was actually looking forward to having dinner with you. I know I always bitch and moan about it, but now it doesn't seem all that important anymore. Not to mention despite how much I make fun of you, you always look great. Plus it makes it much more fun once I get you home and have my way with you."

The voice suddenly became much softer than he had ever heard it before. "I know…that I'm unbearable a lot of the time. I'm a manipulative bastard, and a lot of the time you're the one who has to bear most of it. But…what we have, it's been worth it hasn't it? Sure I'm an asshole sometimes…most of the time, but I have my moments…like now. And yeah, you're asleep so you probably can't even hear me but…points for trying right? Just…_please_…if some part of that messed up head of yours can hear anything I'm saying…just wake up soon okay? Cause…you know…I love you and all that."

And then it clicked. That was something he could not say no to, despite everything else that was working against him. Little by little he started to open his eyes, the light again making him want to immediately retreat, but he carried on. His efforts were rewarded as he felt a hand lightly caress his cheek. The world was blurry at first, shapes and colors molded together but formed nothing conclusive. After assuring himself that he would be able to open them again, he blinked his eyes in an attempt to make things clearer, a successful attempt.

When his vision finally cleared, rather than waste time looking around, trying to figure out what was going on he focused in on a single figure. That one thing was the only thing that mattered right now, and was probably the best thing he had ever seen. His mind was racing with all of the things that he wanted to say, all the things he had been thinking about. However, everything he had was put into a single, barely whispered word. "Greg..."


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: You know the drill, I own not the characters of House MD

Authors Note: This took a bit longer to crank out than I thought it would, but part four is finally here! I hope you guys enjoy it :-)

"Welcome back, sleeping beauty," Greg replied, his fingers running down James's arm, slowly until he took the hand at the end, almost as if it were a prize. "I knew the sappy stuff would get you to come back."

He couldn't really deny the small allegation. Despite how much he had wanted to wake up, it only took three small words to bring his fighting spirit up to full force against the pulls of unconsciousness. As he looked over his lover, he noticed that he was still dressed as he had pictured he would be for their dinner, though the outfit was now wrinkled, looking old and worn.

His looks must have been notice because he watched as Greg looked down at his clothes before grinning. "Stylish no? Now just imagine what it would've looked like days ago. I was a stud."

Licking his chapped lips, James gave him a small smile, easily being able to imagine it in his mind. It had been just what he had thought before, right down to the cerulean, button down shirt that brought out his strikingly beautiful eyes. Now that his mind was clearing a bit there was so much he wanted to know, but the dryness in his throat kept him from speaking and hurt even to breathe. He glanced over at the small bedside table, knowing that Greg would easily get the hint, which he did. Seconds later he closed his eyes for a moment, relishing the feeling of the cool water that slid down his throat, washing away the soreness that came from dehydration.

When he opened his eyes again he noted the worried glint in the blue ones that met his. He licked his lips once more before taking a breathe, wincing just slightly at the pain. There were so many things whirling around that he wanted to ask or say, but he couldn't choose which to start with. What hospital was he in? What happened after he passed out? How bad was he hurt? His lips parted as he hoped that this small action would bring himself to say at least something. And it did. The very first thing that came to his mind. "Sorry about dinner…" he said quietly, before letting out a very small laugh at the expression on the other's face.

"You've just lived through something that most people would have died instantly, and the only thing you can say is sorry about dinner?" he was asked incredulously, though he couldn't blame his companion. It had been an odd statement to make for his big comeback, and given who he was with just made it even worse. But he supposed it made sense in a way. Dinner had been the first thing on his mind when he had woken up in the car, and it was the first thing on his mind when he truly woke up here.

Given the reaction to his last statement, he knew that his next one should be thought over for a moment. Still, he couldn't quite wrap his mind around all that had happened. Aside from being in a hospital bed, it all seemed like a distant dream, and any moment Greg would shake him awake and chastise him for shifting so much in their bed. But somehow, despite how much he wished that were the case, he knew everything that had happened was real.

It must have been taking him a while to come up with something because he felt a gentle squeeze on his hand. "How much do you remember?" House asked softly.

"I was just…on my way home," he said quietly, letting his gaze drop. "There wasn't really anyone else on the road…which was nice. All I was really thinking about was getting home to you. I must've…I don't know, zoned out or something, because the next thing I knew there was something in the road…" He paused for a moment, letting out a small, shaky breath as images started to flood his mind. "I just didn't want to hit it…but when I swerved the car the tires just started screeching and suddenly I was heading towards the guardrail but I couldn't stop and the breaks weren't working fast enough…"

Tears stung his eyes that he assumed were turning red and seconds letter he felt the small droplets running down his cheeks. He didn't want to cry, he knew how uncomfortable it would probably make his lover but for some reason he couldn't control it. Despite the small ache he turned his head, unable to look Greg any longer, ashamed that he was letting his emotions control him so easily. He knew that most of the time he was able to keep himself in check, but now he felt himself slowly crumbling under the pressure of his experience. Everything was falling apart so fast and he didn't know what to do anymore. Often times it was he who was on the other side giving comfort to those who had been struck down by tragedy and he had no idea how to deal with the switch, and he had a feeling that House didn't either.

For this reason he was surprised when he felt his lover's calloused fingers against his cheek, slowly urging him to turn back and he soon found himself lost in a pair of stunning blue eyes that looked at him with nothing but love. "It's alright," the voice comforted. "You're safe now…I can't say the same about your car…but hey, maybe I'll let you in the 'vette again."

He gave a small smile, sniffling quietly as the tears were swept away by long, thin fingers. No one had ever acted as kind and comforting towards him as House was at this moment, and he had to admit that part of him was surprised by the actions. And the offer of the corvette, well, that spoke for itself as he knew Greg would never let anyone touch that car, given how much it was worth. Yes…that car was worth more than anything he himself had owned, and held even more meaning. That was what suddenly made him worry.

There was no way under normal circumstances his lover would act so compassionately towards him, and even though the accident had been bad there must be something else at play. His injuries. Not once since he had opened his eyes had he asked the other how badly he was hurt. Greg had made a vague reference to his charts but had offered no other information to him and now he was suddenly nervous and scared all at once. Something must be very wrong, and even though he knew he had to ask part of his mind told him to leave it alone.

Focusing in on the blue of the other's eyes, he already knew that he had been found out, not that it surprised him much. If anyone knew House at all, they knew how perceptive he could be, especially when trying to figure out what someone was thinking. It would take a miracle to keep something hidden from him. Licking his lips, he parted them, about to speak, but found that he was at a loss for words, and instead used his eyes, begging for the answers he so desperately needed.

He watched the other sigh and close his eyes for a moment, as if formulating a master plan, figuring out everything from what he would divulge to how it would be said before he even opened his mouth to speak. "You're left arm is broken, but I'm going to assume you already figured that much out. You had a grade 3 concussion, but Foreman is confident there's no lasting damage, but he'll probably want to talk to you sometime soon. Four broken ribs…no contact sports for you for a while. Though…we might have to find a loophole around that." He smirked, and James let out a small, airy chuckle.

All the injuries that were listed he supposed made sense, but something told him that there was more, something that was being left out. He couldn't remember what it was though, just that it was important, that he had been worried about it before. But what could it be? What wasn't House telling him? Click. His legs, there hadn't been any mention of injuries below his waist, and he knew that something was wrong when he looked into his lover's eyes. "Greg…," he spoke softly, though the emotions behind that single word were stronger than anything else he could have said.

"James…," the other trailed off, averting his eyes for a moment to put something together. He watched as Greg rested his hand on his thigh, wincing at the slight pressure pushing against him. "…You're going to need a lot of rehab. And it'll take a lot of work and time but…you'll be able to walk again. We'll…we'll get you through this James…I promise."


End file.
